First you fall, then you fly
and you believe that you belong
up in the sky.
Flap your arms, as you run,
every revolution brings you closer to the sun.
You fall asleep in motion, in unchartered
hemispheres,
and you wake up with the stars
fallin’ down around your ears.
And when they hit the ground,
they’re nothin’ but stones
that’s how you learn to live alone.
That’s how you learn to live alone.

Bit by bit, you slip away,
you lose yourself in pieces
by the things that you don’t say.
You’re not here, but you’re still there
The sun goes up and the sun goes down,
but you’re not sure you care.
You live inside the false,
till you recognize the truth.
People send you pictures,
but you can’t believe it’s you.
Seems forever since your house
has felt like home
that’s how you learn to live alone
that’s how you learn to live alone.

It don’t feel right, but it’s not wrong.
It’s just hard to start again this far along.
Brick by brick, the letting go,
as you walk away from everything you know
When you release resistance
and you lean into the wind,
till the roof begins to crumble,
and the rain comes pourin’ in,
And you sit there in the rubble,
till the rubble feels like home
That’s how you learn to live alone
that’s how you learn to live alone
that’s how you learn to live alone

Words seem so inadequate at times, when your soul is breaking, stripped, gutted and fighting to stay afloat. Emptiness, so full it threatens to swallow you, make you into nothing, pull you down into the depths of grey. How is it that I can ache so hard from within from emptiness? Shrouded, like an Arab concubine, moving in slow motion through dense fogs, trying to swim out from myself to feel. I am trying to smile, to find fun, to find an emotion outside of loneliness. It’s so hard to even breathe life, to lift the corners of my mouth, to try and spark life in my eyes. It’s not pretend but it feels like pretend, I am trying. Surrounded by humanity but trapped by my mind. I can’t find the exit key, is it time, is it to drop lower to come back up, like a seesaw.

Encapsulated, walking and talking in a sphere of gelatin. Each movement an effort, each word a push, a smile painful. Trying to break out of this jail of an eggshell without shattering. I keep saying “this too shall pass”, what do you want? What does my mind want to let me go back to normal, what do I need to do, what skills should I reach for, what salve do I rub, what means do I take. I feel like I have tried them all.

One foot in hell, the other grasping for a ledge in normalcy. Momentous, the tiny foothold, every small weight is a burden larger than life, minuscule as it may seem. Multiple feathers eventually become a weighted quilt mantled on my shoulders. Trying to juggle them, watching parts of me float silently into the abyss as tears come and go.

Moods. dysregulation, like pleasantly drowning in quick sand, the sensation leaches into you, like that slow pin prick into a vein. You feel that warmth, blanketing like mugginess on a hot day, steaming and settling onto your skin, the poison, velvety caressing into your veins, drawing you down. Each breathe is a sinking , languid melt you don’t want to fight off, it’s easy to slide into that comfort of turning off the pain, the triggers, the hurt, the chaos. Each breath deeper into the warm mud, closing in, safe, terrifyingly safe. Depression is a womb, it comforts and envelopes, seals you off into a space where you’re suspended in hurt and sorrow, all you know, timeless, un-seeing. There is no up or down, around, sights, smells, all you feel is hurt, bone deep hurt, everywhere, out your eyes, in your skin. You’re meant to fight this, don’t sink into the warm cocoon of the sand, don’t slide into the mucus of the womb, because once in, you’re trapped, coming out is a labyrinth of emotions, and days of recovery.

But how to elude the crumbs of safety, come in and we will make you safe, warm, turn off that outside world, to hell with working through all the pain, let it welcome you, let’s revel in it, become it, and lose oneself in it.

I know I don’t want this but I am just too tired to fight all the triggers, they’re all around and I am tired. Each one seems bigger than the next though infinitesimally smaller, crashing in never ending waves and I’m drowning, can I not just drown? I am tired of swimming, I am tired, and I am tired of people and their pokes and prods, tired of smiling, tired of trying to be me, the smiling me.

So easy to let go, so much easier to find that hole and crawl in, womb, wave, sand, take me to nothingness. Instead, put the training on, the hard hat and back to fighting, fighting all the demons that come within it, inviting me down down down to their opulent palace of oblivion and panacea of anaesthesia.

I will win the fight, again, as always. In the meanwhile, let’s face the pain. Pray its sticks and stones and not knives and bloods.

5 months in to the new year and change is in the air, like Spring, there is a sense that there may be a sense of renewal. I get scared to write things down, positive things, like in some way I may jinx it by saying it loud. That there is an almighty evil residing not only inside of me but around the corner that senses positivity and will come down with a mighty roar of Thor’s hammer. It’s been 5 months of step by step, eyes to the ground, one foot in font of the other. I did things for myself, i went away, i took a good girlfriend and got to know her better, i lived in the moment in my happy place, and it’s made a difference. In my low times, i bring up that trip, the sun, the freedom, the immense sense of joy of being somewhere i love and it’s carried me through some hard welling of emotion that have stopped me in my tracks the last couple of months.

It’s been a jigsaw, 1000s of pieces slowly fitting together, many times not fitting and coming back to try again. My emotions are very strong now since I stopped my medication but I am stronger for having the control. I can 95% of the time feel the trigger impulse and squash if not deflect, or realize when i need to duck and hide, retreat.

There’s been a village of assistance with my psychiatrist back from maternity leave. I was scared to tell her that i cold turkey stopped my medications because I needed to work through the pain of separation, feel it, hurt through it and beat the BPD bastard so I knew I could live through not just this break up but any others to come, that I had the strength, in me, and just me, no medications, no fall backs. Hallelujah to her for understanding and supporting me and truly if she was around I may not have done it, but now that I have I’m a poster child. My counsellor has been a Godsend, a true godsend. My life is an open book in counselling and in class, i live through a village of guidance, nothing is sacred. I’d rather have it all out there and let’s help me live all together, because that is the point, for me to live, no matter what it takes.

Class gives me perspective in pain, that we all sit in there suffering through this pain of mental health. I am so honoured to be with people who are fighting just as hard with just as much stigma as I face. Judgement, it’s there all the time, from people you work with, unwitting friends, boyfriends, friends, exes. Like my life is a game, that somehow they have a right to weigh in with judgement or comments or think they know. It’s when I sit in class and hear the stories that I realize I am not alone, others face the same judgements and stigmas from loved ones and strangers alike and it gives me the push to ignore the people who want to derail and push my triggers. Don’t judge me unless you are me, I can’t even begin to think I can understand a fellow BPD pain but I can contextualize it far more than anyone else can.

I still struggle and tomorrow is still a scary place, as is next week, next month. There is never a sense of security, i feel the bottom could drop out at anytime. Small steps, forward. At least I know where bottom is and if I have pockets of up, I should enjoy them no matter what as my counsellor says, let myself revel in it for as long as I can.

I felt so guilty for a while of so many things, of finally making that stand that I needed to take time for myself to get out of this town. I’ve said it over and over again through the years, get out every 2 months and yet guilt and shame from others made me feel like i was joy riding rather than doing something for my health. Now that I am alone, and I have done it and seen the rejuvenation, the spring I can pull from, please let me have the strength to continue to defy those that guilt me for doing so.

Work, it doesn’t help, but we all know this, counsellors, psychs, peers, we all know that work and BPD, stress and BPD is like feeding crack to an addict, it helps but it doesn’t help. It gives a purpose but it comes with its strings. It reminds me of being in a batting cage with the ball machine on the fritz, swinging that bat wildly to ensure you don’t get knocked out cold. You score some home runs but it’s not relaxing. My counsellor asked me if I wanted a career, and the truth is, no, I don’t. I have no desire to grow bigger and add-on additional stress or more eyeballs. I’m here because I need to pay the bills but truth be told, if I could leave this town and move somewhere more open and meaningful where i was working and accomplishing but not dealing with the shit race of life, take me there. I need to get out of this town and it’s plastic pretences, fear of transparency and lack of balls. People in this town are all about smoke and mirrors, just get over yourselves and your judgements, wrapped up in a pretty bow of perfection.

Dating, it’s been a hot topic at therapy and group. So, we have all started dating. I say “we” because it has become a dating by consensus, even though it’s just me on the front line. I like it, it’s like having all your friends watch your back and I don’t have to make any decisions on my own and it makes me feel more secure that there is a check and balance built into me. It’s been fun bringing everything to the mental health table every week for group discussion. That word “fun”, makes me cringe most times. This life is the furthest thing from fun. The furthest thing from “happy”. Two most dreaded words I hate to hear people ask me, “are you happy?”, fuck no, but I am alive and I have good moments. Happy, go ram that up your ass, I haven’t found happy in 15 years for more than a few hours.

Dating. It’s meticulous. Dating the correct BPD way, maybe I can start a manual. Everything close to your chest and make sure you put out all the disclaimers and warnings right off the bat, here it is, read it and proceed at your own risk. Makes me laugh. So stressed the first time and now, I don’t care if people know I have a mental health disease. Would I judge someone for cancer, no, I’d empathize. My ex-DBF used to care so much about perception and what people thought that it made me almost ashamed of my BPD and my scars. This is me, through and through, I am not afraid to tell someone what I am and what I have been through, yes I cut myself, you can see it, and I am alive. You have an issue, it’s not my problem, its yours. Second thing, past the warning, it’s not about my health, no day-to-day health or stress sharing, that’s my game and my game alone. I deal with my issues, it stays on this side of the pie chart, dating on the other, the two do not co-mingle. It’s been weird but good, it’s likely obvious I am withholding things but I’ve gotten good at working through my troubles alone or in group or with counselling, no need for a layperson that doesn’t understand to get into the mix. I don’t need another person to handhold my BPD, I have a village behind me for that and some awesome friends to call. Dating stays in the neutral zone, no need to get deep, three’s a crowd, BPD can stay home and join me later.

So, step by step, health first, kids next, everything else is tertiary. I say that mantra to myself everyday I step out the door and to work. I know what I need for my health, I’ve made some big changes on my own, so tune out the naysayers and the judgements and stigma and one step in front of the other.

Ive been alone, purely alone without the noise of life for a couple of days now. Not to say I haven’t interacted or been with people, that triggers and pokes are not still happening, they do, but being so isolated from the crush of life, makes me able to feel each sense perceptibly. This would normally be a 5 alarm fire to run straight into the clutches of hell, feeling every speck of sand stuck to my damned soul in that pesky way sand never seems to every want to come off.

It’s been enlightening running through the emotions. I just posted a blog about my happiness and I am happy but as we with BPD know that doesn’t mean emotions are still. There is still the need to use my DBT training to manage the rises and falls and interpret what is real and not. For example, someone that I had been waiting to hear from just told me they couldn’t do something. A very normal, run of the mill, they’re busy right now. To your average joe that should be just fine. To BPD mind its the ultimate in rejection, or it seemed so for me, crushingly so, complete with anxiety, incredulousness, sorrow and then every scenario I could conjure from what was wrong with me, I wasn’t loved to what i would do to make that person feel bad, absolute blacks and whites from one spectrum to the other till I could wrestle it into a manageable plane and believe you me, that took at least an hour. Substantial distraction, poring over the emotion and rationalizing each piece to myself, removing vengeful thoughts, walking around, OCD typing. It’s the shits, imagine doing this all day everyday. This is life with BPD.

Once upon a time, I didn’t recognize it, so whichever emotion hit first and hit hard took control and it was a gong show. One after the other, as like waves, they keep coming in sets. And this is when mania would set in, it’s a drug, that once it sets in feeds on each trigger, making you higher and higher. Mania doesn’t mean happy highs, you can also be manic dark, which I think is worse. Much better to be on a careening high of false adrenaline and fun, than rolling down a bank of darkness picking up every maligned patch of disease along the way.

The ability to have some semblance of control, even with the struggle I still need to manage it, is amazing. I still make mistakes, many mistakes, I still cry like my world is shattering, I still want to die, but I have cognizance. There is a part of me that has learned the habit of feeling what can be right and wrong in myself, and when an emotion, anguish or yearning is me or me in BPD mind. It’s far from perfect but I do encourage anyone that struggles, if they have the resource offered for free through the mental health community or pay for a private course, to take dialectical behavioural therapy. It is not the same thing as CBT, as CBT alumnus like to think. DBT was specifically comprised for people suffering from BPD and each module nails down challenges specific to us, it goes beyond being cognitive.

My hard part is still emotion regulation, still makes me feel like I have my legs kicked out from under me and the wind knocked from me each time. Somehow, you still have to pick yourself up after being gut punched and regulate the emotion. It’s much easier to lie on the ground letting the pain wash over you and wish it would all end. Or just let the mind take over and the devil and angel settle on your shoulder, deciding how to settle your emotional score. Letting your emotional move be determined by strangers, which it pretty much is if you don’t take control, can be an easy way out, just wait to see the end of movie, which may end up with you dead, incarcerated, doing something you really regret (putting this mildly) or just let yourself become a waste of space. Most times, it ends badly… but at that point you really don’t give a damn. I’m getting better, I do tend to lie there ruminating and invariably make the wrong decision before the right one which leaves a gnawing pit of guilt in my stomach.

I may speak from experience as I am feeling this way right now. I knew the right choices but I couldn’t fight the voices, insecurity, guilt to get to the right choice first. I got there but screwed up along the way and watching the litter behind me is sickening. I know, I need to pat myself on the back because i can SEE the litter, I CAN talk about it, I CAN see it, but it doesn’t mean I want to know it 😦 So many positives but still the negatives. I did come right, found the correct voice but listened to the wrong ones first because they were easier. What I’m trying to say, it’s not easy and there is so much guilt and repercussion along the way, but I am still doing good, better than I ever have, and that I can look back and write this is major kudos.

No more 5-Alarm for right now, just some guilt. Onwards, may bite me in the ass later but I did OK.

Happy. So happy tears are spilling down my cheeks as I write these 5 little letters. I am HAPPY (what?). Happy and so scared of when happy goes away. Be in the moment, I keep reeling that line back in to the present, mindful to stay in the emotion of how I am here and now, don’t let the spool get stuck in the rock depths. Marinate in this moment, moments, and commit them to memory for when the darkness returns, make this the light, remember the light.

My hands tremble and water still drains from my eyes, times like these are so fleeting, I can’t believe I am sitting in reality. I haven’t felt this breathe move through my chest, living, life. Outside the window, is beauty, appreciation, perfection, adjectives I see but never understand as applying to me.

I want to wade into the ocean and contribute my salty tears to the conflux of the ocean, wash myself into this peacefulness and join energies with the salve of the water, ensuring when I return, I live in her depths.

For 3 days I have woken up without death sitting on my chest, the breeze coming through the windows washing smiles across my face, the gentle warmth of contentment curling up beside me. It doesn’t matter that it’s just me, i dance around the kitchen in disorganized abandon, laugh at my ridiculousness, talk out loud to the oceans and stars, and close my eyes to nothing but peace, gone are the death threats, plans of pain and the zero sum game. Nights are my friend again, morning my haven.

Unrealistic, of course, crests and troughs is how life works and the rise and fall of the waves outside remind me that I need to grasp every millisecond of this happiness while it’s in my palms. I needed to wipe this home from my mind the last 3 years to move forward, to heal, get well, find help and focus on just living. Living, that’s what I have done, I have lived. Lived to return to life, even for a brief moment in time, because this is life, I forgot, I made her go away, but here she is, in all her glory, smiling down at my sorrowful joy.

The emotions are thunderous, jungle drums beating a crescendo rising from within of warmth, heat, with a hint of fear. Is it fair to be afraid, mirages come and go, don’t get too attached because reality is stronger than fiction. I want to reach a hand out and touch the bubble and see if the walls wobble and pass.

For now, hands off, it will wobble but that can wait. Right now, I need to have my moment in the sun, to bask, glory and absorb every minute of these wonderful wonderful feelings that have been gone and dormant for far too long. Standing in the sun. I’m going to stand in the sun, tears flowing, happiness cascading down, singing my joy to the world and dancing in circles.

Vida.

*SG, we’re standing in the sun. Wherever, you are are, I’m standing here for both of us*

Today was a classic example of borderline moods. I have had every mood possible and I am exhausted from the effort of non-effort as I personally had no control over my moods, which is rather evident and disturbing. For the first time in 3 months, yesterday and this morning, I woke up without wanting to die. The lack of death was glaring, that I almost missed the feeling. I was stupid happy this morning, chatted with a good friend, la dee da’ed my way around the house, drove the entire highway singing at the top of my lungs with a smile on my face and not once did I gauge my normal drive off the cliff points. Laugh out loud, I could have tattooed the “LOL” on my forehead. So this may all be a extended definition of mania, not sure, or I could just be happy (what?).

However, before we cue the grandiose music, by mid day, i was miserable, miserable and more miserable. Deflated and a ball of drudgery and moroseness at how purposeless life is and the irony of being euphoric to abysmal in a matter of minutes. Not that this is a surprise to anyone with BPD, cycling moods, quickly cycling moods is a hallmark, I’ve just been in a transient depression for the last 3 months, I’m jack in the boxing due to triggers I think.

I pyscho babbled my way through the afternoon, and proceeded to go from listless, to irritable to flat. Flat that everything was excruciating, watching myself in a slow motion film pushing myself to plod on. It’s easier to stay flat constantly than to drop from high to low, the pressure coming up and going down is as uncomfortable as it sounds. Its like being attached to puppet strings but you can’t look up or see the script of what’s next, it’s just a jerk and you’re spun into act 2, mood 2.

Distraction, I played the music loud, I tried to watch TV, I tried to do sit ups, I tried everything just to stay doing something and not feel. Nothing worked, I was on the roller coaster and the eject button was not an option in this particular carriage.

And then, pffffft, mood change, talked to a girlfriend and felt awkwardly normal, whatever that is, transient depression, where I was before, comfort zone. Tried to keep it there, played all my DBT tapes in my head, talked to myself. Self motivated, tried to stay in this “normal” zone, I’m exhausted.

I am truly exhausted. I have no idea what spin the mood is next, but I’m not liking this at all. It’s creepy and yeah I like happy but not when happy and crappy go face to face, cheek to cheek every couple of hours.

Oh my dear BPD, how nice to see you classically manifesting yourself just as a reminder in case I get too comfortable in depression.

Really having a hard time finding the light these last 6 weeks, it’s there but its pretty damn weak. I can’t put a handle on why I am convincing myself to keep enduring this misery. Sure, I am doing great, staying strong, just so I can keep this groundhog day of a nightmare ongoing? Truly it is very hard to answer the why each day. And I say the mantras, that “this too shall pass” and the question they always have you ask in class is “what is the worst this could possibly be?”. Unfortunate for me, death seems to be the answer to this one, and to the regular person that’s pretty damn bad. It’s very confusing and I keep anxiously turning each corner thinking that silver lining is going to pop out and surprise me but nope, still wake up each morning wondering why I am still here and why on earth should I make that effort to get up.

Im having one of my sleepless nights, my head is churning out scenarios of morbidity at an alarming rate and sleep is not to be had. Tomorrow I have a day off from work. Thankfully. If someone had handed me a revolver today i would have gladly shot myself a few times and enjoyed it. Work felt like nails on chalkboard all day, and smiling was about as enjoyable as being water boarded.

My counsellor asked me yesterday if I was suicidal. Yes, I want to to die, with all my might right now, it is all I want to do BUT I’m not going to. I am suicidal, can I control it. Yes.

Power, someone said I wanted power, that I was on a power trip. It was such a ludicrous thought I realized that person knew nothing about me. Power? I barely can find the days to quit hating myself and wanting to die to bother finding power. I want the power to end it all without putting others in pain, that’s the power that I want. To be let go without the guilt. All these other things I do to live, does anyone truly think I want any of life? Life with BPD is being ruled by one big power trip you can barely control. Jump off that building without ruining my children’s lives, that’s the power I want.

There are days, like now, where to feel good about myself I need to read about myself, to know that what I feel is not isolated, that it is disease. That it cannot be logically fixed and solved. I read about me so I feel better that I am not alone and though I feel achingly alone, there are other people, like me, in pain, aching, just wanting the world to swallow them up, reading.

Loneliness and Lack of Self Worth

Many people with BPD are isolated from conventional family or friendship situations. As many people around them do not know how to cope with the sufferers behaviour, they tend to withdraw from their friend or relative. This leads the person with BPD to feel lonely and worthless. They already have a very low self-esteem and this makes it worse. People with BPD are like anyone else, they want to feel loved, but in their case it is more extreme. Left alone for too long and they believe nobody wants them. This is mainly caused by rejection at a young age, it is learnt behaviour. The self-loathing and fear of abandonment also causes loneliness.

Psychosis

Have you ever felt out of control? Maybe you have felt like you are in a tunnel, no fear or thought of safety for yourself or other. Detachment from reality, at times, can be how be how someone with BPD feels. Often they suffer from intrusive thoughts or hear voices. The only way to describe how it feels to have intrusive thoughts or hear voices is, imagine someone is with you 24 hours a day, imagine this person is saying things like “hurt yourself,” or “the devil is following you, he will take people away from you.” Often the thoughts or voices will play on the sufferers insecurities. Some people have other hallucinations or believe they have super powers. Commonly people with BPD only have mild psychosis but occasionally some sufferers have more severe psychosis. Mostly they only have psychotic episodes induced by stress. Think about it, if you go to a party and everyone around you is drunk, and you do not like it, you would remove yourself from the situation, right? In the BPD sufferers situation, the brain is removing it’s self from the problem which is the persons thinking and thoughts.

Depression, Self Harm and Suicide

Everyone goes through periods where they feel down or depressed. But for a BPD sufferer it is like that very much of the time. Also severe depression will flood them from time to time. How often do you wish you were not alive any more? Maybe once in your life but most likely it hasn’t ever crossed your mind. A majority of people with BPD think about it very regularly. In fact for a BPD sufferer it becomes normal and it can be quite a surprise to them when someone tells them they never think of it.

Have you ever been in so much emotional pain that you’d do anything to relieve it? Trying to counter act the emotional pain with physical pain is logical if you think about. It’s like tooth ache, you’d do anything to relieve it. So one of the reasons a sufferer self-harms if to get some relief. Another cause for self-harm in a BPD sufferer is self-loathing, they feel so bad about themselves that they feel they need to be punished. Self-harm is not always a sign of a suicide attempt, it’s just a reflection of how the person is feeling on the inside.

Threats of suicide are common among people with BPD, and it’s also not uncommon for them to make an attempt at ending their life. Life with Borderline Personality Disorder is ten times harder than for a non-sufferer. Imagine how the constant fear and pain must be. Suicide threats are like a safety net, “If I really can’t stand my pain any more, then I can escape,” makes sense doesn’t? If you walked through a bed of stinging nettles you would think of trying to get yourself out wouldn’t you?

Withdrawal from Others

Many people with BPD have times when they withdraw from the world. They stop working and socialising. If you were hurt by something you would try and avoid letting it happen again, wouldn’t you? So this can be why someone with BPD may become distant and unresponsive to friends and family. In most cases this withdrawal doesn’t last for more then a few days, weeks or months, but in some sufferers it can last much longer. When withdrawn the sufferer will feel depressed and isolated.

I read an article about a woman who leapt to her death from the top of a parking garage a few months back, she was depressed among other things, and she left behind a care package, on the roof, for everyone she cared about. People have many reactions when they read a story like that, sadness, horror, pity. I was jealous. I didn’t want to admit it and I massaged my feelings for several days, and I am, I am jealous. I’ve wanted to do the same thing many times, looked over my balcony, assessed how high would be high enough not to be left a quadriplegic. Looked for places out of the way so I wouldn’t scare someone coming down or make a mess. Hit someone’s car, or even hit someone period. I know all the spots on the highway that one can take their car off and over a cliff. Some people daydream and plan bucket lists, my bucket lists consists of ways to die. And its not morbid, I get frustrated that I think these things, but I also know they are part of me, I am wired for self destruction. I am jealous, because I want to get away and at the same time I have these two amazing beings that though don’t always stop me from coming close to the edge, still keep me trying and working and learning and fighting, even though I despise most days of having to do so.

I want to be selfish, every fibre in my being wants to be selfish, and get away. Get away from being invisible, for fighting to have people believe, to get away from being lonely inside even when surrounded by people. To be sad when laughing. Very empty on this island when you’re a freak that looks normal. Stigma, a word that is getting more gravitas lately, there is so much stigma and it pushes someone like me into a corner into a wall with no exit.

Do you know how much trauma it takes to make your brain want to shut itself down in protection. Try looking it up. A lot is laughable. Do you know how much it hurts after your brain does that and how bewildered, frightened and unstable you feel. Take away 12 hours of memory. And then, leave that person alone, alone to sort it out, alone to feel rejected. Bring them home from the hospital guilt ridden and confused and leave them alone because they look fine. No scars, no cuts, no bruises, no cast, nothing. Nothing’s wrong, assimilate, stop whining, you’re fine, everyone gets stressed and loses their mind.

Stigma. Did I mention stigma. Loneliness. Emptiness. No one can see you. And how do you tell them. You feel depressed and want to see a doctor you need to wait a few weeks till they can fit you in, you get hit by a truck and emergency will take you in immediately. What happens when I jump from that building, will you fit me in then?

Sometimes it takes death for the people around you to understand, to take a stand, to support and then to look backwards and realize how isolated their loved one was. But its too late, for your loved one, but maybe not for others you can then believe. People don’t want to die when they feel well, when they’re happy, when they want to live.

I came home from the hospital post mental trauma. The biggest concern was not for me but for the impression I caused by having a mental breakdown. Stigma. I caused a problem. I was the problem, I made my own problem. I put people out of their way, I somehow exaggerated myself into a nervous breakdown. Then, I was left to piece together my numerous pieces and then lectured on my ineptitude to manage my situation. Pretty much, since i happen to be walking down the street and there are cars, naturally if I get hit by a car, it’s my fault, suck it up, get up, quit your whining and look at the damage you did to the car and the poor driver. You have a concussion and can’t walk, well too bad, you asked for it. Now drag your sorry complaining ass over and apologize to the driver and pay for the damages. Not to mention the people that now have to come help you. The fact that you’re internally bleeding should not warrant any need to shirk responsibilities because that is self serving and indulgent. Other people are working just as hard under tremendous stress as well, even that poor driver who’s car you damaged so think of him before yourself because even if you were ordered to clean the streets that day, it’s still your responsibility for being at the wrong place at the wrong time and no one cares about your pain.

Stigma. Mental illness. People think we hide behind mental illness. Laughable. You think I would wish this on anybody. You want to see strength, this is strength, living with this everyday, without empathy, is beyond strength. It’s a lonely battle that you’re never sure who you’re fighting for. And when loved ones turn their backs, well that’s when those parking garages seem so appealing. Because maybe when I am dead, they will believe and they will reach out and help someone with an open and understanding heart from their guilt.

Do I feel lonely. Yes. Do I feel empty. Yes. Do I hurt. Yes. Am I alone. Yes. Do I feel stigmatized. Yes. Am I pretending to not be in pain. Yes. Why? Because that’s what expected.

Are these all the signs of suicide. Yes.

Will I find that building soon. No. When I do will I leave everyone their care package. Yes. Will they feel bad. Yes. Will I feel good. Yes. Will they believe. I hope so. Will they feel guilty. Yes. Will it be too late for me. Yes.